


mistletoe;

by bloodynargles



Series: au? au. [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Gen, RIP me, and an arie, and i spent four or five hours writing this its 2000+ words, but happy!!!!, its happy!!!!!!, we have a mex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:30:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2886518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodynargles/pseuds/bloodynargles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You're sitting in a goddamn corner, drinking by yourself and there's that look in your eyes. Like you're looking for something you can't ever have. I know you, North. Who is she?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	mistletoe;

its a spur of the moment thing, a flash of something that goes off and he's not quite sure if its actually real or not. But he can tell that there's something there- maybe in the glint in her eyes when she's amused, or possibly the way she bites her lip when she blurts something out she shouldn't have. Probably the way she laughs, but really that sounds too corny for him, maybe not for her. He didn't really know her, at the start. Got coffee in a small place across the street, his tennis shoes beating against the pavements, wearing out as he mindlessly, subconsciously made his way to the café. Can't really remember what he was wearing, or what time it was, but he remembers her. Pretty pink hair and bright blue- almost green- eyes, a pair of yellow and orange sweaters tucked under her arm and a blush spreading across her face from the cold. He can absently hear the laughter of children outside the door and the cashier has to nudge him to get his attention, asking if he wanted cream in his coffee- he nods. Except he likes his coffee black.

 

She leaves after getting her order and he's not sure if it was worth it- the milky taste for the two minutes of being able to happen his eyes upon perfection. Or at least, as close as he's ever seen.

 

Fast forward six months later and his friend introduces her to him, turquoise eyes- he's decided on the colour, now- sparkling in the late spring sunshine, a pretty lace dress falling from her waist to her knees and her hair dye fading slightly, he almost thinks her roots are blonde, but decides he's probably just looking too much. He's heard her speak before, but its always been mellowed by the comforting sound of a bustling coffee shop, buffered and sometimes he couldn't quite catch her accent. Arizona, she's from Arizona- he supposes it differs from his upbringing in the snow- and she has a twin.

 

Her sister is tall, slender and brunette. Has wide glasses hanging off of her nose, although she insists its only until her contacts get delivered to the opticians. Their eyes aren't the same, no green flecks in the other's eyes, only stark blue, like a deep ocean full of stars- but he can see the similarities. They have the same mannerisms, the secret looks between them that no one else understands- he used to know that. But she's in the wind, now.

 

They'd been left alone, on purpose or not he can't tell- even now. Her fingers fiddle with her skirt hem, and he notices how she had cut her nails down, but decides that right now wasn't the time for cataloguing any of the changes she had made to herself. Makes small talk, asks what she does for a living, she snorts and shakes her head- there's a moment he forgets himself- going on about how she's between jobs at the minute, but has a degree in IT. Mentions that that's how she met his- their- friend, and a strand of hair gets tucked behind her ear as she continues about how its hard to get work in that field right now, unless you had time to be a criminal. She ends that with a coy smile and he lets out a breathy laugh, thanking the dimming light for masking his wondering eyes as he takes a swig of his, now warm, beer. Painted pink lips move as she goes on, shoulders relaxing as she spoke, a gentle, almost motherly tone in her voice when the topic goes to the children she looks after, their parents Greek mad, burdened them with names from the language's alphabet. His thoughts travel to a kid who one of his friends employ, a name meant for a computer, something other than a child- but then again who was he to judge, he didn't have any at all.

 

Friends stream back to the table, and her sister throws a confused look to her partner, who shrugs in reply- no doubt surprised by the ease that she sat with. He feels strangely triumphant at that.

 

They see more of each other over the next few months, and he learns not to stare as much, not to take notice when she'd play with her own fingers, or chew at her bottom lip until it bleeds. Now, he wishes he had.

 

They're friends, now. She asks him out to lunch sometimes, or to coffee, and he goes along with it like he hadn't wanted to run his hand across her cheek for years. Has seen her cry- wanted to desperately press his fingertip onto each one, to make them go away forever. But his feelings are bottled up and no one suspects, they don't know him well enough to notice the little changes, the ones that- that- but there's no chance of her showing up, not here anyway. She never asks about his polar opposite but he craves to tell her, to tell her about his little sister, how she always denied the eight minutes that separated them. He wants her to know. Only her.

 

Time passes, people love and leave, fuck each other and cause distress, but he can never seem to pull his heart from her grasp, falling always falling but never reaching the end. Never being able to say that he was in love with her. Finally in love with perfection. Its two weeks before Christmas when she calls him, asks for his advice on something, a present for someone. Someone special.

 

His heart sinks.

 

He doesn't mope, no matter what his best friend says, there was no moping. Maybe he spaced out a little more, was a little quieter- but he's sure it would have hurt more if he had of been in love. Except he kind of is. There's a party, its festive and there's mistletoe everywhere- literally- someone's wearing a santa hat and he wants to hide, to retreat to a corner and watch everyone else mingle and have fun. He's perfectly fine, the stool is a little crooked, but it doesn't matter- someone sits beside him anyway. Expects some guy, burly and tall, with a fancy education and the money to go with it, but what he gets is far worse. “So, who is she?” He almost chokes on his drink, and his twin looks at him with a raised eyebrow as he croaks out a 'What?'

 

“You're sitting in a goddamn corner, drinking by yourself and there's that look in your eyes. Like you're looking for something you can't ever have. I know you, North. Who is she?” He draws in a breath, the burn of brandy like wildfire in his throat, the air doing nothing to quench the flames. “Pink hair.” Its a mumble, but his sister has already clapped eyes on the light of his desires, the one who held his heart unknowingly. “..Oh.” The protectiveness from her voice has been dropped, and he can hear the other's sweet bubbly laugh over all of the noises threatening to mask it from him. A sigh leaves his lungs and identical blue eyes flicker to him, and he knows the look that she's giving him, yet refusing to meet it with his own irises. South doesn't say anything else to him, walks away from where he was sitting after minutes pass, silence thick in the air. She knows something he doesn't and is in no willing state to share it, at least not with him. He'd like to think she would, eventually. But he knows better.

 

Christmas comes and he sits at the table with his closest friends, although his eyes wander to the way she fidgets with the table cloth, the small tilt of her head and every little tell tale sign of her nervousness. There's a present placed in his hands when the others have left the room, its wrapped up in a pretty turquoise coloured baroque paper, a hand tied bow around it. Her lips form into a tight smile as he gently pulls the tape from the paper, not wanting to spoil her work. Its a box, and to be honest he's confused when he opens it, the white berries of the mistletoe stark against the black velvet inside the box. He lifts it out of the box and into the light to see it better- wanders right into her beautiful trap, he supposes. Has no idea that he's lifted it above the both of them, so when her lips gingerly press to his chapped ones, he almost pulls away in complete surprise.

 

Its soft, and her eyes fluttered closed the second they made contact, eyelashes tickling his cheek as he coaxes himself to kiss her back- the kiss ends far too soon for his liking, and the soft whine that follows her pulling away surprises him. Her laugh is light, and her breath breezes against his cheek as It comes from her body. He instinctively leans up for more but gets shushed instead, her index finger pressed against his lips as the sound of on coming footsteps approach.

 

The rest of the night continues as if nothing happened, except he catches her gaze a few times, a pink blush high on his cheeks. He offers to take her home, and no one questions it when they leave together, only complain when they can't get a hold of him the next morning to go fishing.

 

She's snuggled into his chest when his phone rings for the tenth time that morning, and a huff comes from her as she reaches over him to answer it, not asking if she could or not. He didn't mind, though. “Listen, York, I don't care if its a goddamn tradition, you're not having him. Fuck off, I’m trying to sleep here.” The phone is put back onto the wooden surface and her head falls back into its place between his shoulder and neck. He lets out a breathy laugh and hugs her close, pressing his lips to the top of her head, the smell of roses filling his senses.

 

“I was waiting on you to make a move, don't pin this on me, North.” He splutters at her response and instead of replying pulls her close to his sitting frame by her waist, thumb caressing absent-mindedly over the small bump barely visible through her thin clothes. “Mmhmm.” Turquoise eyes roll at his actions, and look over to an amused Carolina who was sitting across the table, a complete knowing smile on her face. “Its been a fucking year since you two got together can you tone it down a little I think Dee's eyes are melting.” York's voice floats into the kitchen from where he was feeding his son, who had his mother's eyes and intelligence- but obviously, his father's good looks. Obviously.

 

Seven and a half months later, on August 19th, Arie gives birth to a son, their son. North laughs and holds him so close, watching as bright blue eyes stare up at him, white blonde curls all over their child's head. He suggests Theta while she's feeding him a couple days later and he gets a look he knows so well. “Greek alphabet, really, North?” “Why not? It suits him.” Her eyes glance down to their baby, small hands kneading her breast as he suckled away. She watches him for a moment, a comfortable silence blanketing over them as one of her fingers brush a curl from his forehead, lingering there for a little while before she answers. “Theta.” Their newly named son falls asleep in her arms, and North softly takes him from her so she can sort herself out. He presses his lips to Theta's temple and smiles, sitting back down on his perch at the end of the bed. He can't really judge those people at all, can he?

 

**Author's Note:**

> i just  
> sighs  
> i love this fic so much


End file.
